


(I Got You) Under My Wheels

by motleygrrrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Bikers, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Falling In Love, Gangs, Gay Sex, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Love at First Sight, M/M, Protective Harry Potter, Romance, Sad Draco Malfoy, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motleygrrrl/pseuds/motleygrrrl
Summary: Harry Potter: Biker. Deathly Hallow. Grieving and alone.Draco Malfoy: Property. Son of a dead Death Eater. Desperately alone.Two men. Two gangs. One war.When two rival members of opposing biker gangs meet, the attraction is instant, despite the upcoming threat of war. But with Draco already belonging to another man, will their attraction to one another only get them killed? Or is Harry the only one who can possibly help set Draco free?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fenrir Greyback/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, my friends, to my very first Muggle AU! This story involves smexy bikers, rival biker gangs, sad Draco, protective Harry, love at first sight, danger, violence, grief, death, gang nicknames, abusive relationships, assholes who think they own their partners, evil Death Eaters, morally ambiguous good guys, and a whole holy shit ton of drama! I should also warn you now that there _will_ be infidelity. This a heads-up that Draco is already in a not-so-healthy relationship when he meets Harry. The relationship between the two MCs is complicated, to say the least. But, if we're all willing to take the chance, let's go on an adventure together 😊
> 
> (Also, in case anyone caught it, yes! The title of this story is indeed the title of an Alice Cooper song! I do so treasure that tiny man and his lovely music!)

**PROLOGUE—23 MONTHS AGO**

The early winter wind was so cold it stung. It bit into Harry's flesh as it swept past, sinking its claws deep into his skin, tearing through the thick leather jacket covering his arms to hook barbed daggers straight through to his bones. He shivered, wondering if it was actually as cold as it felt or if being in a graveyard just somehow made everything feel as icy as death.

Glancing around, Harry shivered again, struggling to swallow back the scorching tide of grief rising in his throat. Despite the sorrow sitting scalding hot in his chest, burning like fire, it only made him feel colder. The tombstones surrounding them all appeared like blocks of grey ice, and he could not shake the feeling that every headstone in the large hilly plot was staring at him, looking straight through him with dull, deadened eyes, silent in their witnessing of his grief.

A presence approached from the side and he glanced over to Ron, who wore a grim expression. He said nothing, only clapping Harry on the shoulder once before beginning to head over to the large grouping of leather-clad men standing a dozen meters away, and Harry was grateful for his friend's silence. He could not take any more painful platitudes or hollow, heartfelt words. Sirius was gone, and nothing would ever change that. All he could do was hide his tears as best he could as he buried the man who had been as a father to him. All he could do was be there for Remus, who had lost his best friend. Harry was not the only one grieving—he needed to be strong for his brothers; he needed to be there for his family.

But most of all, Harry needed to find the piece of trash responsible for Sirius's death. And he needed to make that man pay.

It was all he could do now.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Draco pushed his scrambled eggs around on his plate, sighing down at the shapeless yellow mush. He pushed the rubbery mess away from himself, feeling his stomach tighten at the thought of eating. He hoped none of the men would wander over to speak to him—he just wanted to sit in silence and not have to force a smile or make plastic small talk with anyone.

"Not hungry, darling?" a voice asked, and he glanced up, tensing automatically before relaxing at the sight of Pansy.

"Not really," he answered, pushing the plate farther away from himself.

"I don't blame you," she shrugged, dropping into the seat nearest him. "I keep telling Daphne she overcooks everything, but you know how easily offended the girl is."

Draco nodded. Daphne was someone that, while he did like the girl most of the time, was not a person he would ever trust or consider himself close to. One minute, she was nothing but sweetness and smiles, pure unfiltered sugar, and the next second, she was screaming obscenities and threatening to curse everyone in sight. The girl seemed to think she was a witch, always wearing black lipstick and dark lacy dresses, practicing voodoo or whatever it was she did late into the night. It made most of the women around the clubhouse laugh and roll their eyes, but despite her occasional temper flares, she had not yet been barred from the club, which Draco knew was mostly due to Zed's obsession with her and her own connections to some of the shadier business dealings the club involved themselves in.

"So," Pansy said, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee, "where's Wolf?"

The question made Draco stiffen. "I have no idea," he said indifferently. "You know they never tell us where they're going."

Pansy rolled her eyes in agreement. "The life of belonging to a biker," she said dryly.

Draco nodded, chewing one fingernail as he glanced around the clubhouse. Only about half the members were there. A small group of men stood clustered around a pool table, laughing at some joke. He could hear a motorcycle revving in the yard outside and could see two prospects seated at the bar.

"Well," Pansy said, leaning toward him with a smile, "hopefully Wolf will be back soon so you can quit moping already. I haven't seen you smile once all day, darling."

Draco shrugged, unsure how to tell his friend that Wolf was slowly becoming the main reason he smiled so rarely. He had no idea how to confess that the only times Draco ever really felt like he could breathe anymore were the times when Fenrir was out on club business. He wasn't sure when exactly that had happened, or when real affection had begun turning towards fear, nor was he sure what to do with the knowledge. It was not something he liked to think about. It all just…was.

"Hey," a voice said above them, and Draco and Pansy glanced up to watch as Tracey dropped into the seat next to Pansy. Her dark hair was cut short, framing her narrow face in a messy sheet. Her eye makeup was heavy and black, making her skin look even paler. She had a silver hoop stuck through the middle of her bottom lip and two large black studs poking through both sides of the bridge of her nose. Several multicolored hoops were stuck through both eyebrows, and there was a small diamond above her top lip.

Staring at her always made Draco wonder how she slept comfortably with so many bits of metal stuck through her face.

"Hey, Trace," Pansy smiled, leaning over to hug her tightly, and Draco felt his lips twitch. Despite both of them already belonging to members of the club, he had always suspected that Pansy had a thing for Tracey. And with the way that Tracey smiled and returned the embrace, he wasn't certain her attraction was at all misplaced.

"Looking good today, babes," Tracey grinned, glancing up and down Pansy's body, and Draco wanted to laugh at the way Pansy blushed just the slightest bit.

"So says the girl in the sexy fishnets," Pansy said, reaching under the table, and Draco ducked his head just enough to watch her run her fingers lightly over Tracey's stockinged thigh. He wondered when they would finally realize they were fooling no one and just fuck each other already.

Although, considering the fact that they belonged to two club members, he supposed they really didn't have the luxury of that option.

"Where are Wire and Morgue?" he asked the girls, hoping they would be able to stop eye-fucking each other long enough to answer the question. Were they off with Wolf, doing whatever the hell shady club business the man had been assigned?

Both girls turned to him with careless shrugs. "Dunno," Tracey answered, stealing Pansy's coffee and taking a long swig. Her dark lipstick left a violet ring around the rim. "I haven't seen him yet, he wasn't home when I woke up this morning. I came by to check if he was here."

"Nope," Pansy said, draining the rest of her coffee, "just us lovely girls. And the prospects."

Draco raised one eyebrow, clearing his throat.

"And darling Draco, of course," she grinned, saluting him with the empty cup.

"Were the eggs not good?"

A shadow fell over him and he glanced up to see Daphne standing over him, frowning down at his full plate. Her long blonde hair fell in a single straight sheet down her back, the yellow tips brushing the top of her thighs. She wore a black leather corset cinched so tightly Draco wondered how she could even breathe, paired with a long black skirt falling all the way to the floor in lacy folds. Tattoos of mystic runes and occult symbols swirled over her bare arms, blanketing them in black-and-white patches. She stared down at Draco with a serious expression, and he wondered if she was mentally attempting to curse him for not finishing the breakfast she had made.

"No, they were," he lied, forcing a smile. "But I'm not as hungry as I thought I was, sorry."

"Don't worry, Daphs," Tracey grinned, pulling the plate to herself and taking a large bite, "I'll finish it for him. You know I don't let food go to waste."

Daphne nodded before sweeping away, knowing that Tracey really would finish the eggs despite the taste and texture. When Tracey had first found her way to the club, she had been living on the streets, sleeping on sidewalks and rooting through dumpsters for meals, sometimes going without meals for days at a time, and as a result, could not stand to see food wasted and tossed out so carelessly.

"That bitch is gonna hex you one day if you're not careful, Draco," Pansy chuckled, opening her mouth and gesturing for Tracey to feed her a forkful of eggs.

"Oh, please," Tracey laughed, eyeing Pansy's mouth as she slid a piece of egg between her lips. "Every single member of this club, including the women, would all have been hexed to hell and back a dozen times if that bloodthirsty little lamb actually had any real powers."

Draco snorted. "A lamb? _Daphne_?"

"A bloodthirsty one," Tracey grinned, playing with a lock of Pansy's hair absentmindedly.

Before Draco could respond, the door to the clubhouse suddenly crashed open, startling several of the barely clothed women standing near it. A group of leather-clad men swaggered in, smirking at the women they had frightened with their entrance. They all immediately headed for the back, disappearing around a corner where Riddle's office was located. Draco wondered where they had been and what they were talking to the man about, but he knew that it was not his place to wonder such things, just as he knew he would never get any answers for his questions even if he were to ask.

Less than a minute later and they were back, stomping across the dirty wooden floor in heavy boots. Three of the bikers peeled off from the main group, heading for the table Draco, Pansy, and Tracey were sat at. Morgue reached out to yank Pansy to her feet, dropping down into her chair before tugging her down onto his lap with a grin. She returned the smile, but Draco noticed the way her lips thinned around the forced expression.

"Any food left?" Wire asked casually, reaching out to tug the plate of eggs in front of Tracey toward himself before beginning to eat with his fingers, and Draco felt his lip curl at the sight.

"You'd have to ask Daphne," Tracey shrugged, glancing at Pansy seated in Morgue's lap before looking away.

"That bitch cooked again?" Fenrir snorted, running his fingers through Draco's long hair before tugging on the strands lightly. "If she made it, you don't want whatever's left."

"Don't let Zed hear you say that," Wire chuckled through a mouthful of eggs. "Or her. He'll try to fight you and she'll try to cast a spell on you."

Fen scoffed. "Oh please. The only spell she's ever done is the one she put Zed under. Although I'd say it's more her mouth than her magic that really did it. Bitch must have one hell of a magic mouth to make up for her fucking personality."

Draco glanced away with a frown, unable to help but wonder if Fenrir spoke about him in similar ways the moment Draco was out of sight.

"Does Zed even really fight?" Tracey smirked, stealing a small forkful of eggs off the plate Wire had stolen from her. "I would've thought he'd be too worried about messing up his pretty face."

The comment made Wire frown at her. "You think Blaise is pretty?"

Tracey simply shrugged, ignoring the intensity of Wire's stare. "Not as pretty as Pansy," she grinned, and Morgue chuckled.

"You looking for an invite back to ours, little girl?" he asked in a low, raspy voice, squeezing Pansy's waist, and Pansy huffed even as her cheeks turned pink.

"Not everyone is like you blokes," she said, leaning back against his chest. "Not everyone wants to fuck everything they find pretty."

Morgue hummed, burying his face in Pansy's dark hair as his hands started to wander up and down her thighs. "But just imagine you and Trace together…"

Pansy's cheeks flushed darker as she risked a glance at Tracey, who was smiling softly at her.

"Maybe we could do some sort of trade," Wire suggested, running one finger along Tracey's collarbone. "We lend our girls to each other for a night. I would say we could all party together, but I really don't want to see Morgue's ugly naked arse. Not if I ever wanna be able to get hard ever again, at least."

Morgue guffawed. "Trust me, Wire, I feel the same way about you. It's bad enough having to look at your face, I don't need the image of your tiny cock burned into my eyes forever."

"This one's far too innocent," Pansy said with a grin, patting Morgue on the head. "Leave him and his eyes uncorrupted, please."

The statement earned a sharp bark of laughter from Wolf, who stood directly behind Draco's chair, resting a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "Uncorrupted? Morgue?" he snorted, tugging lightly on Draco's hair with his free hand. "If that one's uncorrupted, then Draco's still a virgin." He barked another laugh. "And I can tell you for a fact that that's not fucking true."

Draco felt his cheeks pinken as Wire and Morgue laughed. Tracey looked away, pointedly staring away from everybody, but Pansy offered him a sad smile and mouthed something at him, something too quick for him to read. At least Draco now had his answer—if Fenrir was willing to speak about him in such a way _right in front of him_ , then he would of course have no problem speaking even more crassly about Draco when the blond was not around. Draco often wondered whether Fenrir would be so outspoken around the club members about the fact that his lover was male, but he supposed he now had his answer. Perhaps Fenrir did it as a way of fitting in with the other members? It was practically a rite of passage for the club members to discuss the women and hangarounds in the crudest detail possible. Maybe Fen was simply doing the same thing.

But was Draco okay with that excuse? He wasn't even sure why he was trying to find excuses for the man's behavior in the first place.

Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder at Fenrir, knowing he looked for excuses for the same reasons he knew that Pansy and Tracey overlooked the things that Wire and Morgue did and said, which was to keep any little peace of mind they could. He wondered if they had ever been happy with the men they were with. Draco thought he had been happy with Fenrir—for a time, at least.

Yet now…

"What are you thinking about, Draco?" a low voice asked in his ear. Draco could feel Fenrir leaning over him, he could feel the man's hot breath upon his neck.

"Nothing," he said hollowly.

"Hmm," Fenrir said, playing with a lock of Draco's hair. "I'm tired. Let's go lay down. Together."

A wooden nod was Draco's only response as he climbed to his feet, ignoring the whistles and lewd cheers from Wire and Morgue. A muscled arm wrapped around his waist possessively, steering him through the scattered mess of people toward the empty rooms in the back.

And despite the crowd around them and the heat of another person's body so near, Draco couldn't recall ever feeling so alone.

oOo

The deep growl of his motorcycle was a familiar, comforting sound. Harry shifted on the narrow seat, feeling the machine vibrate beneath him. Pollution spilled from the lip of the exhaust pipe in thick streams of smoke, rising up in the hot summer air like a cloud fallen from the sky, desperate to return to the heavens. The thought made Harry grin. Nothing about him was heavenly, especially the growling metal he was sitting astride. He glanced around at his brothers, his grin tightening at the sight. They looked dangerous; he felt dangerous being near them. After spending years of his life being nothing more than a football for his family to kick around, he loved the knowledge that now, he was not a person anybody would want to fuck with. He was intimidating now in a way he had never been as a child, and he loved the feeling. He would never be anybody's football ever again.

The revving of an engine caught his attention, and he glanced to his right, sharing a grin with Ron. The redhead was leaning back on his motorcycle, one casual leg propping the bike up, but he revved his engine again, and Harry could practically feel the impatience rolling off the man. It made him chuckle.

"Calm down," he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the engines. "We'll be leaving soon enough."

"We've been out here for bloody days," Ron grumbled, and Harry laughed again as he slid a pair of dark sunglasses on. He hadn't been expecting the sun to make an appearance today and was glad that he always kept a spare pair of shades in his bike.

"It hasn't even been ten minutes," Harry pointed out, glancing around. It seemed like nearly everybody was there.

"Exactly," Ron said instantly. "Days."

Harry snorted, straightening up when he saw Kingsley approaching them. "Kings," he greeted, nodding to the man. Kingsley nodded back, his face permanently carved in a serious frown. He was tall and wide, with dark skin the color of burnt coffee and hands large enough to do damage to anything they closed around. The small golden hoop he always wore in one ear glinted in the sunlight, and Harry grinned. Even if he had not been the club president, Harry still would have found Kingsley to be the most intimidating member of the Deathly Hallows. There was an air of command that radiated from him, one that demanded respect without the man even having to say a word. And Harry respected the damned hell out of him.

"We leaving soon, prez?" Ron asked.

"Soon," Kingsley responded. "We're just waiting for our road captain to get back."

Ron frowned. "Where'd he go?"

"On a run," Kingsley said, glancing over the assembled men. "I sent him out this morning, but he should be back any minute."

"I think that's him," Harry said, squinting at a nearing cloud of dust.

Several moments later, a bike roared into the yard, stopping less than a foot from Harry. The engine cut off and a tall man stood up, nodding to Harry and Ron before gesturing to Kingsley. The two men walked away, speaking quietly to one another. Harry saw something get passed to Kings, who tucked it into a pocket of the black duster he wore, despite the sun and the growing heat of late spring.

"What do you think it is?" Ron wondered in a low voice, and Harry glanced over with a shrug.

"Dunno. If they wanted us to know, they'd've told us."

"Yeah, I s'pose," Ron sighed. "I just want to get this bollocks done with though. Hermione and I have plans later."

"Yeah?" Harry grinned. "Got a date tonight, do you?"

"Fuck off," Ron chuckled, flicking two fingers in his direction.

"Give her my love when you see her, yeah?"

Ron waved a casual hand. "'Course, mate."

Still grinning, Harry turned his head and watched as Oliver walked back over to his bike, climbing on and looking back at him. "Captain," Harry greeted, grinning at Wood. He liked Oliver. Despite the man's intensity and single-minded focus that could sometimes be a bit draining, Oliver was a good man and one of the first to welcome Harry into the club.

"Seek," he nodded back, one corner of his mouth tugged up in a rugged smirk, and Harry felt something in his gut tighten at the sight. He knew that he should not be looking at his brothers in such a way, and yet, there was no denying that Oliver was a damn attractive man. Leaning over, Oliver sent the same expression in Ron's direction. "Red."

A loud sigh escaped Ron as he rolled his eyes. "Why do you lot have to call me that? I'm not the only ginger one here, you know!"

Harry laughed as he glanced around, noting the red hair sparkling in the bright sunlight. Charlie leaned against his motorcycle several meters away, laughing loudly at something Irish was saying. Behind him stood Fred and George speaking to one of the prospects, the two of them dressed in nearly identical outfits. And over by the stairs, Harry could see Ginny standing with Dean, both arms wrapped around his waist as he stood with her tucked into his side. Sometimes it still amazed Harry that half of Ron's family was in the club.

"We know," Captain grinned, adjusting the leather cut he wore. "But you're our favorite ginger."

"'Course I am," Ron huffed, rolling his eyes again. "Because my brothers are knobs."

Before Oliver could respond, Kingsley clapped for attention, waiting until every engine in the yard had been cut before speaking. "All right," he called, and Harry's eyes narrowed in anticipation. It was time. "You all know what the plan is. We get the blood we're owed, and we get right back out. Nobody does anything we're not supposed to. I don't want anything getting out of hand today, one brother in hospital is enough. We all come home today, is that understood?" Grumbles of agreement met his ears, and Kingsley nodded. "Good then. Let's go." His eyes suddenly sharpened as he pinned everybody into place with an icy stare. "And, if anybody sees Worm, you take that fucker alive. Worm is mine. Understood?"

Harry practically felt the way everybody gritted their teeth as they nodded. Worm had better hope that Kings never actually got his hands on him, because Harry wasn't quite sure what Kingsley was going to do to the man if he ever got the chance. Worm's betrayal of the club had rent a hole of devastation and grief so deep that Harry wasn't certain if they would ever really recover. Even now, two years later, Harry still felt the same coalescent rage and loathing swirl through him at the thought of Peter Pettigrew. Fuck, it would make the run more than worth it if they managed to catch him. Kingsley had promised two years ago that if they ever got their hands on him again, Harry would have his chance at revenge. All he could do was wait as patiently as he could for that day.

"All right then!" Kings shouted, swinging one long leg over his bike and revving it loudly. The rest of the men turned their ignitions as one, splitting the air with the fierce growls of the engines. "Let's go!"

And without another word, he took off. Harry and Ron exchanged a grin before Harry twisted the throttle and shot off like a bullet, following the familiar leather cuts in front of him. The wind whipped at his face, screaming past his ears and clawing at his hair and clothing. Lord, he never felt more alive than he did when he was on his bike. He could hear nothing over the sound of the air rushing past and the blood pumping in his ears. The road ahead of them was empty and Kingsley sped up, making Harry grin even wider as he sped up in response. Kingsley set the pace, but Harry wanted to twist the throttle until he was faster than light, faster than sound, faster than a gunshot. He wanted to be the fastest thing on the road, wanting nothing more than to open his bike up to the max and leave every lingering shred of grief still haunting him behind. He wanted to be able to outrun his childhood, his past mistakes, every single regret he was still holding onto. Harry wanted to outrun the very sunlight spilling across the road, warming him even at the same time the wind whipping fiercely past seemed to snatch the heat straight from his skin.

Even if Harry no longer had Sirius, he at least still had _this._ He would always have this. In those moments, nothing else mattered. The entire world fell away, and it was just him, his bike, and the road, and Harry wanted nothing more than to fly over the hard ground until everything else was just a passing blur.

He didn't think he would ever love anything more than this feeling.

oOo

Draco sighed as he stared around at the empty clubhouse. Well, the _almost_ empty clubhouse. There were a couple of unknown girls passed out on the sofa, their half-naked bodies sprawled over the worn leather, bare breasts on full display to the world. Which mostly only included Draco since he was really the only one there to see them. Not that he wanted to, of course. Breasts were something that he had never really gotten much excitement from seeing. To him, they were on the same level as expensive furniture or modern art. He might glance over it out of curiosity, but ultimately, it was never anything he was particularly moved by.

Sighing again, he poured himself a shot of vodka and threw it back with a grimace. He had no idea how long everyone was going to be gone. Maybe he should take his time doing something productive, like bathing, or reading. Greyback rarely gave him time or peace to read, and Draco missed it. Maybe he could really treat himself and read in the bath, since Greyback rarely even let him take a bath without leering or making crude jokes, or else ordering Draco to do things whilst in there that Draco would prefer not to.

Thinking about Fenrir made Draco shudder and he poured himself another shot, filling it up to the very brim. The cold liquid spilled over the lip and ran down his trembling fingers as he raised the glass to his mouth, throwing it back and coughing as he wiped his chin with the hem of his shirt. He stared down at the spilt vodka spread across the bar top, frowning down at it before deciding that he wasn't a damned prospect and did not have to clean a fucking thing. Just because Greyback thought he owned him didn't make Draco some sort of housewife, for god's sake. He did not and would not clean up the filthy clubhouse for the stupid arseholes.

Glaring, he reached over for the half-full bottle of vodka when a sudden noise made him pause. It was the distant revving of a single engine, and Draco lowered the bottle in confusion, wondering if anyone from the club had come back. They had only been gone a quarter of an hour or so, they should not be back for at least another hour. He cocked his head, creeping over to the door to peer out at the empty yard. There was nobody there. Not a single motorcycle was left, and Draco did not see anybody approach.

Confusion mounting, he tugged the heavy door open, listening to it creak and whinge as it swung on rusty hinges. The harsh sunlight overhead stabbed into his eyes and he automatically flung one hand up to shield them, feeling a faint pounding near his temples. Lord, he had not gotten nearly enough sleep.

Stepping outside, he scanned the yard, unable to spot anything out of place. The black brick building he had just stepped from was large and imposing, a solid wall of ebony with a large emerald flag declaring it to be the home of the Death Eaters, the words painted above the club's symbol, something that made Draco's lip curl every time he saw it. A white skull with a large, twisted serpent protruding from the open mouth was not an image that Draco found to be particularly comforting, which he supposed was the reason it was the symbol of a club called the Death Eaters in the first place. But there had always been something so obscenely disturbing about the image, especially when coupled with the name. Draco still wasn't even sure what a death eater was meant to be. Were they saying that they feasted on death? They found death delicious? They got full on death? Draco had no idea, and frankly, an answer would most likely only have made it more unsettling.

Whatever.

Turning around to head back inside, he paused as he heard a strange sound. Was that…rummaging? It sounded as though someone was moving around nearby. Fuck. Was someone in the yard? Had a rival biker come to the house while everyone was away? Shit. Draco's palms started to sweat as he wondered what he was supposed to do.

But then the sound of a loud, high-pitched moan drifted toward him and he rolled his eyes, relaxing on his back foot with a disgusted shake of his head. So, that's where the prospects had fucked off to. Draco had wondered why the main room of the clubhouse had been so empty. The prospects were usually down there, along with the hangarounds who for some reason seemed to enjoy being fucked and mistreated by a bunch of disgusting, rowdy bikers.

Although, Draco allowed with a sad sigh, he supposed he could not really judge, since he was hardly more than another club whore himself. It was not something he had ever wanted to be, and yet somehow, that's the life he had found himself trapped in.

Allowing himself another heavy sigh, he tried to shake off the gloom that had once more settled over him like a creeping cloud, one that seemed to constantly be hanging over his head. He took a step back, preparing to head back inside.

But a sudden scuffing sound had his head whipping around. It seemed to come from the same direction he had thought he heard the rummaging in. The moaning was still going on, but Draco could now tell that it was coming from the open window several feet above him.

Cautiously, he took a careful step forward, neck prickling with fear. Who was there? Maybe he should run in and get one of the prospects, just in case. But they would not react well to being interrupted whilst doing whatever they were doing to the poor girls upstairs, and Draco did not want to risk annoying them. He knew that none of them would ever dare mess with him when he belonged to Fenrir, but he still did not like crossing them, especially if it turned out to be nothing more than a stray cat making the noise.

Taking a deep breath, he took several more steps forward, reaching down to make sure he still had his switchblade in his pocket. The solid weight of it settled something in him, reminding him that he was not completely without some sort of defense.

The loud rummaging sounded again, and Draco followed the noise, keeping as quiet as he could. The sound seemed to be coming from one of the large garages on the property, the ones where the members worked on the bikes and kept a few cars and pick-up trucks in.

Heart pounding, Draco crept around the side of the building, feeling his heart rate increase at the sight of the large sliding door gaping open. Shit, maybe Draco really should go get the prospects. They may as well do something for once, instead of whatever the hell useless shit they were always claiming to be busy with. Draco hated the prospects even more than most of the club members.

Still moving cautiously, Draco slipped into the garage, grateful for the cool dimness it provided from the hot, harsh sunlight. The noises Draco had heard in the yard were now louder, several thuds and soft footsteps, and Draco heard a strange hissing sound, as though one of the tarps they used to cover the cars was being dragged off. Was somebody in there trying to steal a car? The thought made Draco stifle a laugh. Whatever poor bastard decided it would be a good idea to try to steal from the Death Eaters had no fucking clue who they were thieving from.

A sudden shadow on the wall made Draco freeze and he automatically reached for the switchblade, heart pounding. The sound of the knife being flicked open made the shadow on the wall freeze as well, and Draco's racing heartrate somehow tripled as the shadow moved toward him.

Fuck. He should run. He should leave. He should never have gone into that fucking garage or ever tried to play detective. What the hell had he been thinking? What could he possibly do against whoever was in there? What had Draco—

"Who the hell are you?" a sudden voice interrupted his panic, and Draco's eyes flashed up, widening in fear. A man stood several meters away, calmly pointing a heavy-looking revolver in Draco's direction. The gun was oil black and looked as though it weighed a thousand pounds, but it did not waver or tremble in the stranger's grasp. It was held coolly, confidently, by a hand that was clearly no stranger to its weight.

Feeling nearly dizzy with terror, Draco's eyes snapped up to meet the stranger's, and he felt his breath catch at the sight of the man. _Fuck_ , Draco thought faintly, _he's bloody gorgeous_. The man had wild black hair and pale skin, a combination that Draco usually found a startling contrast, one that normally tended to make the person look washed-out and almost sickly, but on the stranger before him, it was an oddly pretty effect. He had a straight nose and bright green eyes, surprising Draco with the shocking splash of color. He didn't think he ever really tended to notice eye color, but on the man, it was the only thing he seemed able to focus on. He had never seen eyes like that.

The pretty eyes narrowed into a glare as the man raised the gun and took a step closer. "Who are you?" he asked again, voice low.

The question combined with the glare made Draco's hackles rise and he answered with a glare of his own. "Who am _I_?" he asked angrily, clenching the handle of the switchblade tightly. "Who the hell are _you_? _I_ actually fucking belong here!"

The man tilted his head as he studied Draco. "Do you," he said flatly, not a hint of a question in his words.

"Who are you?" Draco repeated, brandishing the knife. He knew that a knife was no match for a revolver, but he at least wanted to show the man that he was not completely weak or helpless.

At the sight of the knife clutched in his right hand, the stranger barked a sharp laugh.

"Relax," he said with a heavy eye roll. "I'm not here to hurt anybody."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Draco demanded, refusing to lower his weapon.

"You a prospect?" the man asked, ignoring Draco's question yet again. "You're not a club member, I know that. They're all at the meet."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about the meet?"

"Because," the man grinned. "They're meeting up with my club."

"What?" Draco gasped, feeling his hold on the knife loosen in surprise. "You're one of the Hallows?"

"At your service," the man said, grin widening, and Draco refused to acknowledge the way his pulse raced at the sight.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Draco hissed, glancing around frantically. "Get out before they get back! For fuck's sake, do you have any idea what they'll do to you if you're caught?!"

The man tilted his head as he stared at Draco, his cocky grin from earlier fading into something softer. "Aw," he murmured, not even blinking as he stared at the blond, "are you worried about me?"

"No!" The man may be smiling at Draco, but all Draco could do was glare. "But I know the members, and you do not want to get caught by them on their own fucking turf! For fuck's sake!"

"Relax," the man said, chuckling to himself. "I can handle myself. Besides, I should be in and out before they even realize I was here."

"Except for the fact that you've already been caught," Draco reminded him in an icy voice. Who the hell was this man and why was he so unafraid? Draco knew exactly just how afraid the man should be, for Christ's sake! This was not something to be taken lightly!

But the statement only made the arrogant grin return to the stranger's face. "And what are you planning on doing with me then?" he asked almost teasingly, and it made Draco's jaw clench.

"I could call the prospects," he said coldly. "They're still in the house."

The man rolled his eyes. "I'm terrified," he said sarcastically, and Draco glared even harder.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" he snapped.

At the question, the man's eyes hardened. "Getting something that belongs to us," he said in a voice as hard as his gaze.

"And what the hell do you think we have that belongs to you?"

The man snorted, an angry, derisive sound. "You don't even know why the clubs are meeting up, do you?"

Draco paused, unwilling to claim that no, he had no idea. Fenrir rarely told him anything of import, and Draco was not allowed to be privy to club business. At the end of the day, he was nothing more than a piece of property.

"Three days ago," the man said, shifting closer to Draco, who couldn't help but fall back a step, cursing himself for his reaction, "a couple of your club members attacked one of mine. Jumped him, beat him, stole his bike and his cut. I've come to reclaim what's ours."

"They attacked one of your members?" Draco felt his eyes widen. He hadn't heard a thing about it.

"One of my brothers, yes," the man spat, firm body practically vibrating with anger. "He would have come to reclaim the cut himself, but he's still lying in hospital at the moment."

"I'm sorry," Draco sighed, flipping the blade of the knife away and tucking it back into his pocket. "I had no idea."

The man stared at him for several long moments, as though attempting to solve a puzzle in his head. "Who are you?" he asked softly, clicking the safety on the revolver and tucking it into a holster on his waistband.

"Nobody," Draco said hollowly, feeling the truth of those words pierce through him. He was nobody, absolutely nobody. Nothing more than Wolf's boy, not even a real person any longer.

"I doubt that," the man said, shifting even closer.

Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter who I am."

"Maybe not," the man shrugged, and Draco fell back another step, "but maybe it matters to me."

"What does the bike look like?" Draco asked, changing the subject. He did not care to discuss his lack of worth with a stranger, no matter how good-looking the stranger happened to be.

The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Are you helping me?"

"I suppose I am," Draco mused, surprised at himself.

"Black and chrome," the man said, still sounding surprised. "Red trim. Big motherfucker, hard to miss."

Draco paused as he thought. "I think I saw Macnair take a bike like that out to the pit a couple days ago."

The man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The pit?"

"The fire pit," Draco nodded. "It's back here." Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, Draco spun around to lead the man outside, but a hand closed over his arm before he had even taken two steps.

Swallowing a scream, Draco wrenched his arm free and nearly tripped over his own feet scrambling away, flicking open the switchblade once more with trembling fingers.

"Whoa," the man said, raising both hands to show he meant no harm. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

"Right," Draco said, breathing heavily. There was something about the man that made Draco want to trust him, which only made Draco distrust him even more. He had learned long ago that instincts could lie; he learned long ago that people lied even more than instincts, especially the people who appeared the most trustworthy. "Sure."

"Cross my heart," the man vowed, corners of his lips twitching.

Still breathing hard, Draco jerked his head in the direction of the large door. "Come on then. Hurry up and get your damned bike so you can leave already."

The man's eyes narrowed back into slits. "I thought you said they burnt it," he gritted angrily.

Draco frowned. "No, I said they had taken it to the pit. They haven't burnt it yet. I'm assuming they were saving that for after this meeting of yours is finished."

The stranger returned the frown. "All right then." One hand swept out in front of him, a gesture for Draco to lead the way.

"You first," Draco said suspiciously. He was a fool to have ever turned his back on the man in the first place. No, more than a fool—he was a stupid, naïve idiot. This was a member of the Deathly fucking Hallows, for Christ's sake! Draco should know better by now than to ever trust a member of a rival gang.

The man rolled his eyes once more, and Draco wondered how many times in a day the stranger did that. "No trust, eh?"

"No."

"Fair enough," the man shrugged. Back straight, he marched past Draco and into the sunlight, keeping close to the garage as he waited for the blond. Draco jerked his chin in the direction of the pit.

"It's over there," he said, waiting for the man to continue walking forward. A large fire pit was dug into the earth, blanketed in burnt rock. A pile of blackened wood and grey ash coated the bottom. And even though no fire was lit, Draco could still smell the scent of smoke that seemed to live in the very air out here. It was a smell that never fully went away, no matter how long it had been between fires. The very earth and air were drenched in the smell, saturated by the thousands of fires that had been burned in that spot over the years.

The man glanced around curiously, eyes razor-sharp as he took everything in, but he suddenly paused before running forward. Lying on its side several meters away was a large motorcycle, looking a bit worse for wear. It was scratched and dented in several places, and Draco noticed that the kickstand and both side mirrors were missing. The man lifted it with ease, and Draco found himself unable to look away from the sight of the man's firm biceps rippling as he maneuvered the heavy machine into a standing position. He was mumbling something to himself as he practically ripped the seat up, sighing in relief when he pulled out a folded square of leather. He shook the leather out, nodding to himself at the sight. It was a leather vest, with the name DEATHLY HALLOWS stamped in white on the back, above their odd symbol. It was a circle surrounded by a triangle with a single solid line running vertically through the center. Draco wondered for the hundredth time what the strange symbol meant.

The man turned the cut around, inspecting both sides, and Draco winced at the sight of dried blood on the front, staining the leather in brown splotches.

"Thank you," he said unexpectedly, looking up to Draco. "I don't really get why you'd help me, but thank you."

Throat tight, Draco nodded, unsure how to respond. He also had no idea why he had helped the man.

"Guess I should probably leave now, huh?" The man placed the leather cut back beneath the seat before beginning to wheel it back in the direction of the garage they had just come from.

"Huh?" Draco asked, staring in confusion. "What are you doing? I thought you were leaving?"

"Well," the man said, throwing a wicked grin over his shoulder, "I'm going to need a little more help getting this out of here. They've cut the wires, and I still have my bike near here that I won't leave behind. So," he shrugged, "I'll just be taking one more thing and then I'll be out of your hair for good."

The last half of the statement made Draco frown as he realized he didn't necessarily want the stranger to leave, especially for good. But he could hardly stay. It was far too risky for them both if the man lingered. "What are you taking?" he asked cautiously, catching up to the man.

The man's grin widened. "Something to help," he said mysteriously, strolling back into the garage and gazing around before his eyes lit up. He wheeled the bike in the direction of a large pick-up, and Draco's mouth dropped open.

"You're taking a truck?" he whispered, shocked for some reason. "You're taking _Wolf's_ truck?" Oh god. He was about to steal Fenrir's truck. What the hell was the man doing? Did he have any idea what Greyback would do to him if he ever caught him?

"Looks like it," the man shrugged, completely unconcerned for the bloody death now awaiting him as he lowered the door of the bed and glanced back at Draco. "Don't think you could help us with this, do you?"

Stunned, Draco could only stare, mouth hanging open. The man was insane.

"No? Didn't think so." He began looking around the garage, grinning to himself before lowering the bike onto its side and dragging a slim metal ramp close enough to haul the bike up into the bed. Panting, the man jumped back down, lifting the ramp and throwing that in as well. "May as well take it," he mused to himself, slamming the bed door closed before walking around to the driver's side. He snorted when he found the door unlocked. "Fucking figures," he muttered, and Draco couldn't help but agree. Fenrir rarely locked the doors to his truck, always assuming that nobody would ever dare mess with anything belonging to him. The man began fiddling with something out of Draco's sight, and Draco stepped closer, staring in surprise at a tangle of wires now dangling above the foot pedals.

"So," the man said, still fiddling with the wires, "don't suppose you'd tell me your name now, hmm?"

"Um…" Draco hesitated, feeling as though he was in some sort of shock. The man wanted to know his _name_? He was effectively signing his own death warrant right in front of Draco, and he was asking for Draco's fucking _name_? Who the bloody hell was this man, and was he incredibly, unrealistically brave, or just incredibly, almost impossibly stupid? Was there even really a difference?

The man laughed. "I really doubt it's 'um'. Not really a pretty enough name to suit you, is it?"

The words made Draco's nose scrunch up in confusion. The man thought he was pretty? Was that what he was saying? Or had Draco misunderstood? "I'm nobody," he mumbled, watching as the man pulled a pocketknife from his denims and neatly cut two wires before crossing them and beginning to twist two of the split ends together.

But the words made the man pause and he turned back to face Draco, a soft, almost unguarded expression in his eyes. "I doubt that," he said, echoing his earlier words. "I'm Seek, if you'd like to know my name first."

"Seek?" Draco repeated, wondering what kind of name that was.

The man laughed. "As in Seeker," he said with another eye roll. "I'm the guy they usually send in for the quiet jobs like this. I'm pretty decent at finding the things we need found, you know?"

Draco nodded, even though he wasn't certain he did know. He had no idea if he knew anything any longer.

"What about you?" the man asked, taking a step closer, until he was only inches from Draco and Draco was having trouble breathing. Lord, he was standing so close that Draco could smell him—a dark, leathery sort of scent that reminded Draco of pine trees and rain, fresh earth and melting chocolate. It was definitely not a bad smell, and Draco inhaled as subtly as he could. Christ, the man smelled amazing.

But Draco could not respond. He did not want to tell the man his name; he did not want to make his involvement in the situation any more real than it already was. He had no idea of what Fenrir would do to him if he ever found out that Draco had helped a member of the Hallows steal his truck.

"All right then," the man said softly, reaching out to stroke Draco's cheek with one thumb, and Draco shivered at the light touch. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But seriously, mystery man," he grinned, "thank you." And before Draco even had time to respond to the gratitude, the stranger was leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Draco's mouth.

At the feel of warm lips suddenly pressed to his own, Draco froze, his brain coming to a sudden screeching halt. Oh Lord, what was the man doing? What was Draco supposed to do? Was he supposed to kiss him back? Would the man be angry with him if he didn't kiss him back? Draco definitely wanted to kiss him back, but what if it was some sort of test? What if the second Draco returned the kiss, the man pulled back with a snarl of disgust, wiping his mouth before sinking a fist into Draco's stomach? The kiss continued for several more heartbeats, Draco's panic growing with every passing second, before the man finally pulled back.

"Well, gorgeous," he said, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a small smile, "I suppose I'll see you around, yeah? Or not." And with that, he released Draco and turned back to the truck. "I would estimate about forty-six seconds before I get this truck running. So if I were you, I'd head back into that house and pretend that you never stepped foot outside, yeah? I don't want that pretty face of yours to get in any trouble."

"Right," Draco whispered, stumbling back a step before suddenly turning and sprinting to the door. He paused in the doorway, cursing himself as he pushed the garage door open all the way, leaving more than enough room for the truck to escape. He spared one last glance for the man but could see nothing, not even the stranger's unruly hair. All he could see were the two black boots on the ground as the man leaned into the truck, still fiddling with the wires.

Continuing his sprint, Draco tore back to the house, pausing outside for five seconds to collect his breath. He carefully eased the door open, slipping inside and shutting it quietly. Racing over to the bar, he snatched the bottle of vodka from the counter before hurrying quietly upstairs and practically flinging himself into his room. He shut the door with trembling fingers and slid the lock shut, stumbling backward until his legs hit the thin mattress and he was able to sink down onto it. The second his arse touched the bed, the sound of a loud truck roaring to life sounded, and Draco threw himself back to his feet before tripping to his small window, peering down into the yard and watching with wide eyes as the stranger backed the truck from the garage and tore out of there like the devil was on his tail.

A loud " _Fuck!_ " was heard overhead, accompanied by a door crashing into a wall and heavy, thumping footsteps tearing down the stairs. Moments later, a half-naked prospect launched himself into the yard, staring after the trail of dust the truck left in its wake. Draco continued to watch until even the dust had settled and nothing more remained of the man whose real name Draco still didn't even know. Had any of it been real?

He sank back down onto the bed, clutching the bottle of vodka to his chest like a lifeline. Christ, what had Draco done?

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, that is the first chapter down! Hooray for biker drama! The second chapter should be up soon 😊


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for warnings

Harry laughed and raised his half-empty lager to his lips, grinning around the mouth of the bottle as he took several swallows.

"Seriously, Harry, you should've been there," Ron chortled, slapping the brunet on the back.

"Wish I could've been," he smiled, glancing in Charlie's direction. Charlie was standing near the wall clutching a beer, grinning and gesticulating wildly despite the black eyes and torn clothing. There were smears of red around his mouth and nose, having obviously wiped the blood off his face in a hurry, and three of his fingers were taped together. He wore no shirt beneath his leather vest, offering them all a hint of the white wrapping bandaging his sore ribs. But he was on his feet and smiling, despite how rough he looked.

"Hey," Ron said, lowering his voice as he leaned toward Harry, "don't tell Mum that it was Charlie who got picked as rep, yeah?"

"'Course," Harry said instantly. He knew that Molly Weasley did not like four of her sons belonging to the club and hated even more that her only daughter was living with a club member.

"Still wish Kings had let us have some bloody fun too," Seamus sighed, finishing off his stout. "Those fucking cunts put Boot in hospital. And I know that Charlie thrashed Wolf, but still. It would've been nice to get a crack at the rest of 'em."

"You know Kings is all about diplomacy and all that tosh," Ron said, waving one hand through the air. "S'pose it does make a certain sense, though, fighting through a single rep. Otherwise, things could get well out of hand and we could end up with a dozen dead bodies on both sides."

"Yeah," Seamus grumbled, gesturing for one of the prospects to bring him another drink. The prospect nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to get it, and all three men watching laughed. "Cheers," he grinned, accepting the stout from the man. Dennis nodded respectfully, and Harry chuckled again. Lord, he remembered being a prospect.

"Harry was a hero too, though," Ron said, raising his glass in Harry's direction. "Snuck right into their own bloody house and got Terry's bike and cut back. And stole their bloody truck!" He guffawed loudly as he reached out to slap Harry on the back again.

"Wolf's truck," Harry grinned, finishing off his lager. Dennis was there with a new one before Harry even had to ask, and he accepted it with a nod of thanks.

"Oh fuck!" Ron laughed even harder. "You didn't tell us that! Oi! Charlie!" He turned to yell loudly over his shoulder, and everybody turned their attention to him. "You know that truck Harry stole today from the D.E.'s?" Charlie nodded, looking amused. "It was Wolf's own fucking truck!"

Everybody laughed and cheered, raising their drinks in salute to Harry, who grinned back.

"Good one, mate," Charlie chuckled. "Dickhead gets his face smashed in _and_ his truck stolen in the same hour. Too bloody priceless."

Harry saluted him with his lager, pausing as he wondered if he should tell them about the stranger who had helped him. His brothers would definitely get a kick out of knowing that someone from the Death Eaters' own clubhouse had assisted a rival gang member in stealing from them, but he decided to remain quiet in the next second. For some reason, he wanted to keep the memory of the man to himself. He was not someone that Harry had ever seen before, because he definitely would have remembered seeing someone like that. The man had been tall and fit, slender in a way that Harry had not been able to help but admire. His skin had been the color of blush-dusted snow, and his hair had been so blond it was nearly silver. His voice had been low and melodic, and surprisingly posh, and Harry couldn't help but wonder for the millionth time what the man's story was. Was he a prospect? A hangaround? Harry hoped that the man didn't belong to any of the club members. He was far too beautiful to belong to any of those monsters.

Harry raised his glass to his lips absently, tracing the cool rim of the bottle around his mouth as he thought of that parting kiss. He really wasn't sure why he had done it, other than the fact that he had wanted to kiss him and, if the man really did belong to one of the members, touch something of theirs that he wasn't able to steal. Even though Harry would have preferred to steal the unknown man over the pick-up he had ridden off in.

At least he had gotten a kiss out of it.

One of the girls wandered over and perched her arse right on Harry's armrest, smiling down at him flirtatiously. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to ignore her as he took another swallow of lager. Beside him, Ron was trying his hardest not to laugh.

"I hear you're a hero today," she smiled, fluttering her eyelashes down at Harry in a way that made him want to cringe. Lord, did she even have any idea of how fake she looked at that moment? Was that really the sort of thing the other blokes would find inviting?

"I like to think I'm a hero every day," he retorted, finishing off his fifth lager and tossing the empty bottle to Dennis.

"A special hero today, then," she said, refusing to take a hint. "Any idea how you'd like to celebrate?"

Ron snorted and sniggered before finally breaking out into laughter, slapping his knee as he wheezed. She frowned at him but said nothing, turning back to Harry with hopeful eyes.

"This is how I'm celebrating," Harry said, accepting a fresh lager from Dennis.

"Hmm," she hummed, leaning down far enough to offer Harry a view of her half-exposed breasts. Seriously, her tits were practically being shoved in his face, and he leaned back with a frown. "Is that the only way you're planning on celebrating then?"

At the question, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. He didn't like disrespecting the women in the clubhouse, but sometimes he couldn't help but scoff at a person's inability to take a hint.

"Barking up the wrong tree there, love," Seamus chuckled. "Unless you've got something for him to suck on, he's not interested."

Her flirtatious smile widened. "I can think of a couple things," she said, flexing her biceps closer to her body and pushing her breasts together to draw even more attention to them.

Seamus and Ron howled with laughter. "I was talkin' maybe a foot lower, pet," Seamus snickered.

The girl appeared confused, and Harry sighed.

"Seamus is saying he's bent," George said, coming up behind her and sinking down into the seat nearest Ron.

The girl looked even more confused. "Seamus is bent?"

The group roared with laughter as Seamus's mouth dropped open in outrage.

"Oi, I'm not bent!" he protested. "Seek's the bent one, not me!"

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. "You're bent?" she asked Harry, shaking her head in disbelief. "You don't seem bent!"

"Do I not?" he asked calmly, raising one eyebrow. God, he hated being met with disbelief almost as much as he hated being met with hostility. Why did some people think he had to prove his sexuality to them?

The girl leaned closer, running one hand lightly across Harry's arm. "Are you sure?" she purred, smiling seductively at him, and Harry allowed himself another eye roll. How many eye rolls did that now make for the day?

"Pretty sure, yeah," he deadpanned, ignoring the laughter still ringing around him. "You can ask the last bloke I sucked off though if you really want proof."

She sat back with a frown. "Right," she said uncertainly, blushing as the others continued to laugh.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling sorry for the girl.

"Oi," Ron grinned, "Harry's not the only hero here. You can go celebrate with Charlie if you like." He jerked his head in Charlie's direction, and the girl climbed to her feet, flushing darker before stalking off. "Be gentle with him!" Ron called after her, "He's a bit battered at the moment!"

The laughter of the group followed her as she made her way to Charlie.

"Should we get more bloke groupies for you, Harry?" George grinned, lighting a fag and exhaling the smoke.

"Gross," Seamus complained, eyes widening at the look Harry gave him. "Not you, mate! Just, you know, ew. I don't really fancy some hangaround with a cock putting the moves on me, you know?"

"Oh please, Seamus," Ron cracked, "you can't even get the normal ones to speak to you."

Harry frowned at Ron's usage of the word 'normal' before deciding to just let it go. It was supposed to be a party, after all.

"Seek," a voice called, and Harry's head snapped up, climbing to his feet when he saw Kingsley motioning for him. The man led him over to a corner of the room, eyeing Harry for a moment before pulling a thick envelope out of the pocket of his duster. "Your bonus for your work today," he explained, and Harry tucked the money away with a nod of thanks. "You did well; I really didn't think we'd get Boot's cut back."

"Me neither," Harry agreed. He wasn't sure if he would have found the bike or the cut in time if it hadn't been for the stranger.

"We get to bring him home tomorrow," Kings said with a rare smile. "And we'll be able to bring him home in his cut now thanks to you."

"Those fucking arseholes deserve to get shot for taking it," Harry said in a low voice. A beating he could understand, considering the fact that the two gangs were sworn rivals. But taking a man's cut was almost the equivalent of castration—it was not an easily forgiven action. Even now, after having challenged the other club to a fight and winning, Harry knew there were plenty of brothers who were itching to get their hands on a few Death Eaters. It hadn't been enough that only Wolf got beat for it—the others needed to pay as well.

"I don't disagree with you," Kings sighed. "But you know how a full-scale war is going to end."

"Casualties on both sides," Harry nodded. He knew where Kingsley was coming from, was well aware of how dangerous a war between tribes could be, but still. It felt as though they were allowing the disrespect to go unpunished.

"Don't worry, Harry," Kings said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You did well today. Go celebrate, have fun with your brothers. Don't dwell on the negatives. If they push, we're more than ready to push back."

Harry nodded again, wandering back in the direction he had come from. He took another swallow of lager, wondering if it was the alcohol that was making his mind feel fuzzy, or if it was the lingering memories of blond hair and soft lips.

Harry still wasn't sure exactly why he had done such a thing as stealing a kiss from a stranger, but he did know that no part of him regretted it.

oOo

Draco stared down at his hands, watching his fingers tremble. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house and he jumped, glancing fearfully at the door. He could hear the sounds of the club members downstairs, drinking and shouting, and he took a shaky swig of vodka to try to settle himself. Thank god he had swiped the bottle before locking himself in his room, because there was no way in hell he was going downstairs when they were in that sort of mood. They hadn't been back for too long but were already quickly working themselves into a drunken fury.

The moment they had arrived back at the house, kicking open the door and storming across the wooden floor, Draco had known the meetings between clubs had not gone in their favor. He was just glad that he had not been present when they discovered the stolen truck and the missing motorcycle, although he had been able to hear the enraged screaming from his bedroom, followed by the sound of thuds, smashed glass, and the pained groans of the prospects. Draco had no idea what had been done to them and did not ever want to find out. All he could do was hope desperately that nobody ever learned about the part he had played in it all, because not even Fenrir could protect him if the club found out.

He frowned. Fenrir would no doubt tear him apart himself if he ever found out.

A sudden sound had Draco jumping in fright, glancing around to notice the knob on the door jerking violently.

"Draco!" a voice growled, and Draco scrambled to his feet, rushing to unlock it. Fenrir stormed into the room, and the sight of him made Draco gasp.

"What happened?" he cried, taking in the man's appearance. Fenrir was covered in blood. One eye was swollen completely shut, he had a large, jagged gash stretched along his temple, his lip was badly split, and his cheeks and jaw were mottled in purple bruises.

"Nothing!" the man snapped, wincing as he placed a hand against his ribs.

"Fuck, Fenrir, sit down! I'll get something to wash you off!"

"No," the man argued in a voice that really left no room for a response. Draco nodded tightly, shrinking back into himself as he watched Fenrir begin to pace around the small room in agitation. Without warning, he turned and pinned Draco into place with a single fiery stare. "What happened today?"

Draco's face scrunched in confusion. "I have no idea. You lot vanished, and then when you came back, all I heard was shouting and things breaking."

Fenrir took several steps closer, trapping Draco against the wall. "So, you have no idea what happened here then, do you?"

"N-no," Draco whimpered, shaking his head. "I didn't even know anything happened, I've been up here all day, I swear it!"

"Someone stole my fucking truck," the larger man growled, boxing Draco in with his thick arms. "You didn't see a single thing?"

Draco shook his head even harder, feeling nearly dizzy with terror. "No! I didn't see a thing! I swear!"

The man reached up to tangle his hands in Draco's hair, digging his fingers into the scalp. "Tell me the truth, Draco. Did. You. See. Anything?"

"No!" Draco gasped, feeling his eyes prick with tears, threatening to spill over and run down his cheeks. Oh god, what was Greyback going to do to him? "Please, Fen, I promise!"

The man tightened his hold, staring into Draco's eyes for what felt like years before suddenly loosening his grip, until he was cradling Draco's head between his palms. "Okay then, Draco," he said softly, leaning forward to press his swollen, bruised mouth to Draco's. "Okay. If you say you saw nothing, then I believe you."

Releasing the breath he had been holding, Draco nodded gratefully, returning the gentle kiss. "Were none of the prospects in the house at the time?" he whispered, afraid to push the subject but needing to know what they suspected happened.

Greyback's body went rigid as a deep growl rumbled from his chest. "All three of them were," he spat, eyes appearing slightly crazed. "Three of those stupid motherfuckers here and not one of them noticed 'til the truck was crashing through the fucking fence!"

Draco said nothing, reaching up to stroke a careful hand over Fen's shoulder.

"It was those fucking Hallows that did it, I know it!" the man snarled, fingers clenching over Draco's upper arms in a tight, punishing grip. "Those fucking bastards broke in here and took my truck, and every single one of them is gonna fucking pay for it!"

The words made Draco shudder as he wondered if the man, Seek, would be all right. He had laughed off the danger earlier, but Draco knew that Fenrir was only going to grow angrier and angrier about it by the day. He did not take well to losing.

"You're hurt," he whispered, remaining perfectly still in Greyback's hold. "Let me clean you up first, Fen, and then you can think about retribution."

A short nod was his only response before the man stepped back, wincing in pain as he slipped the leather cut from his shoulders and struggled to pull the blood-soaked shirt over his head. Draco helped as best he could, wincing in sympathy when he saw the sight of the man's torso. It was covered in large splashes of purples and blues, angry red swelling and green bruising painting it like a canvas, an entire rainbow of injuries along his chest and stomach.

"Is everyone hurt just as badly?" Draco murmured, pushing the man gently down on the bed before rushing to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit. He returned to find Greyback guzzling from the bottle of vodka that Draco had tossed on the mattress, wiping his mouth with a grimace.

"No," he said shortly. "I was the rep."

Draco nodded, familiar with the term. Sometimes, to keep things from getting too out of line, a representative from both gangs was chosen to fight one another. It appeared that Fenrir had lost.

Remaining silent, Draco quickly cleaned the man as best he could, wiping the caked blood from his face and bandaging the shallow wound on his forehead. "I don't think it'll need stitches," he said quietly, "but you'll need to go to hospital for your ribs."

Fenrir ignored him, taking another heavy swig of vodka. "Those cunts'll pay," he growled. "Every single one of 'em."

"God, Fen. You could have been killed," Draco whispered, wondering what would happen to him if Fenrir was ever killed. Would Draco still be able to stay at the clubhouse? Would he have to leave the only home he had? He had nowhere else to go, nobody else to turn to.

Greyback scoffed loudly. "Shut up with that shit already, Draco, don't be so fucking dramatic."

Draco nodded tightly, struggling to swallow down the tears that continued to try to break free. It had been such a stressful, fear-filled day, and Draco could not stand being mocked by someone he was trying his hardest to care for. Christ, Fenrir didn't care about him at all outside of the way Draco looked, did he? Draco was absolutely nothing to him. The blond had not been lying earlier when he had told Seek that he was nobody. Just ask the man who was supposed to care about him the most—Draco was nobody; he was nothing. He wasn't anything to anybody. Not a single person in the entire world cared whether Draco was happy or safe, nobody cared what his name was, nobody even cared if he was alive.

Draco had been alone for nearly his entire life.

"Hey," a gruff voice said, and Draco glanced up when he felt a large hand cup his cheek. "I'm okay, Draco, for Christ's sake. Just stop crying already, I'm fine."

Draco nodded again as he dropped his gaze, trying his best to force down the sob he could feel rising in his throat. Chapped lips pressed against his forehead as a rough hand swept up and down his arm in comfort. But Draco did not feel comforted. He felt dirty and unloved. He felt unwanted and used.

"Come on," Fenrir said, leaning back to unbutton his jeans. He struggled to his feet and gestured for Draco to tug his denims down. Draco quickly complied, pulling the jeans over the man's muscular thighs all the way down to his ankles, and then tugged them off completely when Fenrir sat back down on the mattress, lifting his feet enough for Draco to slide the clothing free, leaving the man in maroon boxers. "I'm fine, Draco, and the doc should be here soon. Let's just lay down 'til he gets here, okay? He can work on me up here."

"Okay," Draco whispered, helping Greyback into the bed and pulling the sheets up around him. "I'll lay on the floor or something though. Your ribs are pretty bad, and I don't want to accidentally hurt you by jostling the mattress."

"No," Fenrir growled, glaring at Draco. "You'll lay in the bed."

"But, Fen," Draco protested, but was immediately interrupted.

"You'll lay in the fucking bed," he said in a dangerous voice, and Draco nodded.

"Okay," he agreed, stealing another gulp of vodka before climbing into bed next to Fenrir, not bothering to change out of his clothes. It was far too early to fall asleep, and although Draco felt exhausted, he knew he wouldn't be able to nap. But Fenrir wanted to lay down and didn't seem to care at all if Draco felt too stressed to sit still. There was an anxious, fidgety feeling racing through him, a nervous energy building deep in his bones that felt dangerous at that moment. He shut his eyes and prayed desperately that he would not jostle the mattress and be punished for accidentally hurting Fen. The floor really would be safer, but Draco knew not to argue when Fenrir spoke in that tone.

Clenching his eyes shut as tightly as possible, Draco was unable to stop himself from conjuring the image of a good-looking man with wild black hair. He could recall every detail of Seek's smile and the man's sexy smirk. Draco would do anything for another interaction with the stranger. He had been so confident, so intriguing, so distrustfully perfect in a way that Draco had no longer believed perfection could exist.

But Seek had been.

Lying perfectly still and trying to ignore the heavy breathing to his left, Draco allowed himself to think of Seek, dwelling on the brief kiss and even going so far as to imagine if they had been somewhere where Draco could have deepened it. And maybe then Seek could have followed up the extended kiss with a thousand and one other things that Draco longed to have done to him by the man.

To his surprise, he managed to fall asleep, drifting off to warm thoughts of someone whose real name he did not even know.

oOo

The sound of stomping and slamming doors jolted Draco awake and he blinked in the grey light filtering through the grimy shutters. Tiny specks of dust floated through the air, drifting through the dim slices of light peeking in through the dirty window. Was it morning? Squinting, he looked around, noting that the bedroom was empty. Where was Fen?

Draco laid in bed for several minutes, hearing a distant murmur of voices somewhere downstairs. He stretched, sighing before flopping back onto the mattress. Now that he was awake, he could not fall back asleep. He scratched at his chest as he wondered idly what time it was. It seemed early. Was Greyback in a club meeting?

With another sigh, Draco pushed back the blankets and climbed to his feet, gathering some clean clothing before heading into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water felt good pouring over him, and he closed his eyes, turning his face into the flow. He scrubbed himself extra hard with the flannel, trying desperately to wash away the stain on his skin from last night, the one that had crept over his flesh like poison, whispering to him that he did not matter, that Fenrir did not care about him. He longed to scrub the feeling of filth from his flesh, but the harder he scrubbed, the more useless it felt. By the time he finally gave up, his skin was pink and raw, but he did not feel any cleaner. He turned the water even hotter, until it was so scalding it hurt, but Draco did not move. He simply turned his face into the spray and prayed that the hot water would somehow soak into his skin and cleanse him from the inside.

He had just reentered his room in clean clothing when the bedroom door banged open and Greyback stomped inside, his bandaged injuries somehow looking even worse in the light of morning than they had last night.

"Good morning," Draco said, chastising himself for the disappointment he felt when Fenrir did not return the greeting.

"Good, you're dressed," he grunted, looking Draco over with a gaze so sharp it made Draco flush and want to cover himself, despite already being clothed. "We have a job for you."

"A job?" Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What do you mean?" He never did jobs for the club—he wasn't even _allowed_ to do jobs for the club. He was not a prospect or an ally, or even a hangaround. He was property, plain and simple.

Fenrir stomped across the room, picking up the nearly-empty bottle of vodka he had dropped on the floor last night and taking a swig. "We need you to deliver a message."

Draco frowned. "A message?" Was it a threatening message? Draco was no good with violence or threats, why the hell would they want _him_ to do it?

Fen rolled his eyes. "Just a normal message, for fuck's sake."

The scorn in the man's words made Draco cross his arms defensively. "For whom?"

"The Deathly Hallows, who do you think?"

"The Hallows?" Draco's arms fell away in surprise. "Why am I delivering a message to _them_?"

"Because I'm telling you to," Greyback growled, and Draco's jaw clenched. "It's about my truck. Don't worry, we've written it down so you don't have to memorize anything. Your pretty head can stay just as empty as it's always been."

Draco's teeth snapped together as he fought back a thousand angry retorts he longed to throw at the man. Christ, he really had no respect at all for Draco, did he? He clearly thought Draco was nothing more than a pretty face. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "When do I leave?"

"Right now. Travers can take you." There was an undercurrent of anger to Wolf's words, and Draco knew it was because Greyback was too injured to sit atop a motorcycle and drive Draco himself.

"I can drive myself," Draco insisted. "My car is in the garage, I can just take that."

Fenrir stared at him for long moments before finally relenting with a nod. "All right then, if you think you can handle it without getting lost."

"Of course I can," Draco huffed, marching over to the dresser to pluck a pair of socks from one of the drawers. He tugged them on and stuffed his feet into a pair of shoes before pausing. "Why am I the one being sent to send the message? You've never sent me on a club errand before."

"Yeah, normally we wouldn't," Fenrir shrugged. "But due to the nature of the message, the club decided it would be too hostile to send a member in with it. So Rab suggested we send one of the bitches with the message instead and I said they could use mine. I figured it'd make us look too weak if we sent a woman to deliver it."

Draco stared at him in shock and no small amount of hurt. One of the bitches? Draco was Fenrir's bitch? Was that really what the man thought of him?

"We need a response today," Greyback continued, either unaware of or ignoring the hurt expression Draco could feel on his face. "So don't leave their clubhouse until you get one. If they're smart, they'll hand over the truck right away and you can drive that straight back."

"You're sending me into their clubhouse?" Draco swayed, suddenly feeling dizzy with fear. Oh god. He was the property of one of their rivals—there was no way in hell Draco would make it out unscathed.

"Of course," Fenrir huffed. "Where the hell else did you think the message was going to? Don't worry," he rolled his eyes, "you'll be fine. Why do you think we chose to send a bitch instead of a brother? You have much more of a chance of making it back out."

Draco felt his mouth drop open as he stared at the man, feeling as though he was seeing him for the very first time. Did Fenrir even fucking _care_ that he was putting Draco at risk by sending him directly into the hornet's nest? Rival gangs were not allowed outside their own turf, and that included all patches, hangarounds, and property. Draco could be seriously hurt for strolling up to the clubhouse and handing them a challenge from their enemies. There was no guarantee he would come out of that clubhouse in one piece, and Fenrir had fucking _volunteered_ him for it?

"Why?" he whispered, hating the tremble in his bottom lip. "Why do I have to go there? Nobody sends messengers anymore. Have Riddle meet with their president! You can get the message to them without endangering me!"

"We want an answer today," Greyback growled, arms flexing angrily at his sides. "Setting up a meeting between presidents takes way too long. I want my fucking truck back before those cunts have a chance to wreck it. And sending someone directly to their door shows how seriously we're taking this."

"Then send one of the members!" Draco cried desperately. "Send a bloody prospect! Send someone who's actually involved in this! Fen, I have nothing to do with this! Please don't make me go in there!"

"It's already decided," Fenrir said coldly.

Desperation growing, Draco stumbled forward, nearly throwing himself to his knees as he begged. "Please, Fen! You don't know what they might do to me! I don't want to go in there! If you care about me at all, you won't do this! Please, Fenrir, I—"

"Enough!" Greyback snapped, taking one threatening step forward, and Draco stumbled backward with a sharp gasp. The man exhaled before walking slowly over to Draco and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's already decided, Draco," he said in a low voice, an edge of steel threaded through the words. "You'll be fine, I promise."

"You don't know that," Draco whispered.

"You'll be fine," Fen repeated, pressing a series of light kisses to Draco's mouth, but Draco did not return them. The Hallows were going to hurt him, punish him—they would not let him leave so easily. Fenrir knew exactly what was going to happen to him, and he was still sending him there. Greyback stepped closer, pressing Draco back into the wall as he stroked his throat lightly with one thumb. The touch made Draco shiver, and he did not think it was a good shiver. "You'll be fine, Draco," Greyback murmured, kissing along his jaw. "Nobody will fuck with my property, I promise."

Draco nodded shakily, feeling himself tremble in Fenrir's arms. Oh god. What was going to happen to him?

"Good boy," Fenrir said in a low voice, stepping back. "You leave in five minutes."

oOo

The large wrought-iron gate seemed much taller than it was, appearing to loom miles above Draco's head as he stared up at it in trepidation. The Hallows' clubhouse was over an hour's drive away, nearly all of which Draco had spent panicking. What would they do to him when they realized who he was and what he was there for? Draco knew from experience how easy it was to blame a messenger for the message they carried—he knew how easy it was for a messenger to get shot for delivering a message that the recipient did not want to read.

Draco did not want to get shot. He just wanted to go home.

Taking a deep breath (and then several more for luck) he stepped up the gate and yelled a greeting, grateful when his voice did not rasp quite as pathetically as he had been expecting.

There was no answer.

Gritting his teeth, he shouted again, feeling both relieved and terrified when he heard a quick set of footsteps approaching the gate. A man stood on the other side, gazing at Draco with obvious suspicion. He had mousy hair and a narrow face, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for Draco to speak.

"I'm, er," Draco cleared his throat, "I'm here with a message. For the Hallows."

"A message?" The suspicion on the man's face deepened and Draco winced, wishing that he had worded things in a less threatening manner.

"I'm just a messenger," Draco said, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. "I was sent here to deliver this," he reached slowly into the back pocket of his trousers, using two fingers to pull out the sealed envelope, "to a member of the Hallows. That's it."

"I'll have to go get someone," the man said, eyes still narrowed, and Draco finally noticed that he was wearing a simple leather vest with the word PROSPECT stitched on the front.

"All right," Draco nodded, taking a step back from the fence. The other man backed away, refusing to take his eyes off Draco. He disappeared around the corner of the large clubhouse, and Draco exhaled, grateful to have survived the first round but knowing that the real danger was still ahead.

Fuck, what if they didn't even wait to open the fence? What if they shot him on sight? The fact that the letter had been written down on paper meant that Draco didn't even need to be alive for it to be read. They could shoot him, take the letter, and not think anything of Draco's broken body left lying in a pool of his own blood. Fuck, maybe Draco should just set the letter somewhere visible and leave. But what would he say when he got back to the Eaters' clubhouse and Fen asked him what their response was?

_Fuck_.

Draco could feel his heart thundering in his chest, beating so quickly it hurt. Oh god, please let him make it out of there alive and unhurt.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice said, and Draco's head snapped up in surprise, "look who it is." Seek stood on the other side of the gate, smirking at Draco. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and appeared tired, but his eyes were bright and sharp as they raked down the length of Draco's body before dragging back up to meet his gaze, and the blatant stare made him shiver.

"S-Seek," he stammered, uncertain why he was so surprised to see him. He knew that he was a Hallows member, after all, and Draco was at their clubhouse, but still…he had not been expecting to ever speak with the man again.

"You follow me here or something?" Seek's smirk widened as he stepped closer to the gate. "Miss me that badly?"

"No," Draco said, eyes narrowed into a glare. "My being here has nothing to do with you."

"Right," Seek said, clearly not believing him. "Then why are you at my clubhouse?"

"Did your prospect not already tell you?" If Seek could do arrogance, then Draco could damn well do sarcasm.

Seek shrugged. "Said there was some strange bloke out here with a message. I'm assuming that's you. What's the message?"

Draco held up the envelope with two fingers, and he saw Seek glance at it curiously.

"Turn around," he ordered, and Draco blinked in confusion. "Turn around, let me check you out for weapons."

Draco blinked again but did as commanded, turning quickly in a circle before looking back to Seek in challenge.

Seek rolled his eyes. "Again. This time slowly."

Shivering at the smooth, almost syrupy way he had murmured the words, Draco held his arms out and spun slowly in a circle, knowing that his clothing was too tight to hide anything larger than the switchblade he always carried on him.

Seek hummed appreciatively, eyeing Draco for several more moments before striding over to unlock the door and open it enough for Draco to enter. He slipped inside cautiously, staring at Seek and wondering if the man would lash out after reading whatever was in that envelope.

"So," Seek smiled, ignoring the threat of the switchblade that Draco knew he knew was on him, and stepping closer to the blond. "Do I finally get to find out your name then?"

Heart pounding, Draco said nothing, holding out the envelope for Seek to take. The man sighed before accepting it, making sure to brush his fingers over Draco's, who yanked his hand back so fast he nearly smacked himself with it. Seek, the arsehole, snickered to himself as he slit the seal and pulled a folded parchment free.

"I just want to know who you are," Seek said softly, staring at Draco rather than reading the letter. "What's your name? How are you connected to the Death Eaters?"

Remaining silent, Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, biting his lip as he dropped his gaze to the ground.

Seek sighed. "One day you'll have to break that silence and speak to me, gorgeous."

The final word made Draco blush, but he ignored it as best he could, focusing instead on the impending death he was certain would follow the reading of the message he had just handed over.

But Draco's head jerked up in surprise when Seek started laughing. "So," he murmured to himself, smirking down at the paper clenched in his hand, "the Eaters want a good old-fashioned rumble, do they? All over a goddamn truck."

"Do they?" Draco asked in surprise.

"In a roundabout way," Seek frowned. "Do you not even know what this letter says?"

Draco shook his head. "They sealed it before they gave it to me. And I'm not a prospect and I'm certainly not a member, so I don't exactly get kept up-to-date with any of the business."

The frown on Seek's face deepened. "So if you're not in the club and you're not even a prospect, then why the hell are you the one delivering this message?"

At the question, Draco's face flushed bright red and he pulled his hands free to run them through his long hair. "Because," he mumbled, keeping his gaze locked on the ground. He followed that stellar explanation up with several more mumbles, ones that even he could not understand.

"Sorry, come again?"

"Because!" Draco snapped, finally glancing up to glare at the other man. "They were worried about sending a brother in, so they decided to send one of the bitches instead! Happy?"

"Bitches?" Seek's face twisted in confusion as he stared at Draco before his face suddenly drained of color. "Oh fuck," he breathed, staring down at Draco's right hand. "You're someone's property."

Draco glanced down at his own hand, feeling his lips thin at the sight. Fuck. He had forgotten to take the goddamn ring off. It suddenly felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. Usually when he went out he wore a black denim vest with the words PROPERTY OF WOLF stamped in large letters on the back, but he had decided to leave that back at the clubhouse out of fear of what would be done to him if they found out he belonged to Fenrir. But he had forgotten about the damned ring. It was nothing more than a simple silver band, something cheap that Fen had purchased several weeks ago. It was nothing more than another collar around Draco's neck to show that he was nothing but a belonging.

Reaching down, he twisted the ring around his thumb, hating the way it glinted in the dull grey light. Because he and Fen were not married and nowhere close to engaged, Draco wore the ring on his right thumb instead of his left ring finger and hardly ever thought about it.

"Yes," he said quietly, the soft words instantly snatched up by the light summer breeze. "I suppose I am."

Seek said nothing.

Heart hammering, Draco finally glanced up, only to wish that he hadn't. Seek was thunderous. An angry cloud had passed over his face, making him look dangerous and fierce. _And sexy as all sin_ , Draco thought, banishing the words from his mind in the very next second. He should not be thinking of the man who was about to murder him as _sexy_.

"Who?" Seek asked quietly.

Draco slid the ring from his thumb and tucked it into his pocket. "Nobody," he said in a voice just as soft.

"That can't be your answer to everything."

"What does it even matter?" Draco whispered, biting his lip. "I just need a reply from you, and then I can leave."

"Yes, back to your owner," Seek scoffed, and Draco flinched.

"Please," he said, scrubbing his face with both hands, "I just need an answer."

"Well, so do I." Christ, the man was stubborn.

"It doesn't matter," Draco said in a warning tone, falling back a step.

"Maybe not," Seek said softly, "but maybe it matters to me."

Draco glanced up in surprise, recognizing the words from the previous day. "It shouldn't. And it doesn't. He's nobody, all right?"

Seek shook his head, frustration crossing his handsome face. "Well, don't you just sound the absolute fucking embodiment of bliss and happiness?"

The words and the sarcastic tone they were delivered in made Draco cringe back a step before he could stop himself. No, of course he wasn't happy. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt anything even close to happiness, and the last thing he needed was a stranger rubbing that in his face.

"Hey," Seek said, an unexpected vein of concern running through his voice, "are you okay?"

Draco stared at him, feeling gooseflesh erupt over his arms at the softness spilling from the other man's eyes. Was he really asking if Draco was all right? "Yes," he whispered, hugging himself tightly.

"Seriously," Seek said, taking two steps closer, until their shoes were practically touching. "Something is wrong. What's wrong?"

Draco closed his eyes, praying for the strength to get through that encounter. Christ. The entire time he had been panicking about the upcoming meeting, he had never imagined that _this_ might be the real danger he would be faced with. The concern of a virtual stranger, more concern than his own boyfriend had ever bothered to show, was doing strange things to Draco's insides, almost as though he had a mess of tangled threads trapped inside him, and Seek was slowly plucking at them, unknotting everything he tried to keep hidden inside with nothing more than a handful of words and an air of concern. Draco didn't even know his real name.

"I just need an answer," Draco whispered, keeping his eyes shut.

But they flew open the second two warm hands reached out to cup his cheeks, and Draco found himself gazing helplessly into Seek's bright green eyes.

"Hey," he murmured, "it's all right. Don't cry."

Fuck. Was Draco crying? He hadn't even been aware that he was close to crying, for fuck's sake.

But he blinked several times, frowning when he realized his eyes were not wet. Not a single tear had fallen. Seek stroked his jaw lightly with gentle fingers, peering into Draco's eyes as though they held all the secrets to his soul, as though he was consciously attempting to untwist every knotted, messy feeling that had gotten so tangled within Draco over the years.

"Are you trying to start a war?" Draco whispered, unable to help but lean into Seek's warm touch. "Do you have any idea what he'll do to you if he finds out you put your hands on me?"

"Who?" Seek asked again, daring to brush over Draco's lips with one thumb. "He can't care about you, whoever he is. Not if he sent you in here to deliver that goddamn message."

The words made Draco want to sob because he knew how true they were. No, Fenrir did not care about him. What he cared about was being disrespected, and another man touching something that Fenrir believed to be his was a sure sign of disrespect in his eyes.

"Don't be sad," Seek whispered, leaning closer. "He doesn't deserve you, whoever he is."

Draco shook his head as much as he could whilst Seek cradled it so gently. "You don't even know me."

"No," Seek agreed, "not near enough as I'd like to."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise a moment before Seek bent forward to press a warm kiss to his mouth, and Draco didn't even think, he just responded. He parted his lips and pressed back, clutching at the leather cut hanging from Seek's broad, muscled shoulders. Oh god, the man felt amazing pressed against him like that. Seek pulled him closer, kissed him harder, but still held him so gently, in a way that Draco could not ever remember Fenrir holding him. It felt good—it felt _too_ good.

Draco tore himself away with a gasp, stumbling back as he raised one hand to his mouth in shock, eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at Seek. "Do you have some sort of death wish or something?" he whispered, feeling his heart hammering fiercely. "Kissing me like that, breaking into their compound, stealing Wolf's truck…are you trying to get yourself killed by the entire sodding gang?"

Seek smiled. "I'll give the truck back if I can keep you in its place."

The words sent a tingle of pleasure down Draco's spine a second before his entire body froze. He was not something to fucking own—he was not like a goddamned truck. He was not some mindless appliance to be used and ignored at will, discarded without a thought as practically everyone in his life had done without hesitation. He jerked away, taking several steps backward and putting some much-needed distance between them.

"I need an answer," he said in the iciest voice he could muster. "Just give me an answer already so I can leave."

Seek frowned at him, stretching out one hand and trying to step closer, but Draco only backed away with a fierce glare, and Seek's arm dropped.

"Sorry," he said, the single word soft and sincere, but Draco did not want soft. He did not want sincere. He had no idea how to handle soft, and he sure as hell did not know how to handle sincere.

"Just give me an answer so I know what to tell them," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Er…" Seek hesitated, glancing back at the clubhouse. "It's not really that simple, you know. I can't speak for the group, we all have to come to a decision together."

Draco growled. "I can't leave until I have an answer!"

One corner of Seek's mouth turned up in a smile. "Don't leave then."

Draco growled again, and the smile dropped from Seek's face.

"Fine," he sighed, gesturing for Draco to follow. "Then I'll need to speak with the others. You can wait inside."

"Inside?" Panic gripped him in a tight fist and squeezed. "Inside, where the other club members are? Erm, no. No thank you. I'll wait out here, in my car."

Seek rolled his eyes. "Relax, nobody's going to touch you."

Draco copied the eye roll. "Oh sure, no, of course they won't. Why ever would they, after all."

"You'll be fine," Seek insisted. "I promise. So just come inside already."

Draco glanced at the clubhouse, feeling the panic sink its claws even deeper. "No, that's all right. You go speak with your club, and I'll just go get coffee or something, maybe something to eat." His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast the previous day. Maybe he really should get something to eat.

"It's going to take a while," Seek argued. "Only about half the club members are here, and everyone who spent the night only stayed because we all passed out drunk." A sudden wide grin spread over his face. "There was a lot of celebrating to be done after Charlie kicked Wolf's arse into about seventeen different shades of purple."

The words made Draco's lips thin as he remembered the extensive injuries now decorating Fenrir's entire body. "Well then," he said in a clipped voice, "you had better call the others and get something decided. Because Wolf wants a fucking answer."

Seek rolled his eyes again, and Draco wondered if he should have been keeping track of how many times in one encounter Seek did that. "Fine. But this isn't even really about the truck, is it? This is just about Wolf's stupid wounded pride from having his head kicked in in front of his entire gang. Christ, that man is such a fucking arsehole. You do know that, right?"

Draco gritted his teeth. He was well aware of the type of man that Wolf was. He didn't need to be told a single thing about him by a goddamn stranger.

"Go call your club," he reminded coldly. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"What if we decide sooner?" Seek said, snatching at Draco's wrist before Draco could walk away. "I think you should give me your mobile number, so I can call you when you should head back."

Draco gave him an unimpressed look. "You really think I'd hand over my mobile number so easily?"

Seek grinned. "Not so easily, no. I was planning on charming it out of you."

The unimpressed look on Draco's face deepened.

"Oh come on," Seek chuckled. "This is strictly business, nothing more. You're the one who came to me with a message. I'm just trying to make the passing of the messages a bit easier for us both."

Draco hesitated, wondering what he should do. A large part of him wanted to give Seek his number, and not just for the convenience. It was nice to know that maybe, just maybe, Seek really did care about Draco, even just a tiny bit. It would be nice to have at least one person in his life that actually cared about him.

"Come on," Seek whispered, leaning closer. "What are you so worried about?"

Draco stared at him, wondering what the hell there was to _not_ be worried about, but he finally relented with a sigh, practically barking his number to Seek, who scrambled in his pockets for his phone. He punched the numbers in with a large grin, immediately dialing Draco.

"There," he said triumphantly when he heard Draco's phone go off in his pocket. "Now you have my number too just in case. Oh, er," he glanced down at his phone with a frown, "do I finally get to know your name now? I mean, I need _something_ to put you under, don't I?"

Draco sighed wearily. _Oh, fuck it_. "Draco," he said, speaking to the ground.

"Huh?"

"Draco," he huffed. "My name is Draco."

A genuine smile slid across Seek's face in response. "Draco," he breathed, typing in the name as his smile widened. "I like that. I really like that. I told you that you would have a name as pretty as you are. I've never met anybody named Draco before."

Draco rolled his eyes, wondering if he was picking up the irritating gesture from his growing familiarity with Seek. "Right," he said, tucking his phone. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I'm going to go now. Go call your bloody club together and decide on a goddamned answer so I can go home already."

"Fine," Seek relented, walking Draco over to the gate and raking him with a final heated stare before sliding it shut and locking it once more. "Stay close. Once everyone gets here, I doubt it'll take long to decide."

Draco sighed. "You already know they're going to vote yes. Nobody's going to turn down a challenge like this."

"True," Seek grinned. "But you never know, my brothers might surprise you. They might decide to be generous and return the truck to Wolf." His grin widened. "In pieces."

Draco's lips twitched. "And you think that wouldn't automatically incite a war between tribes?"

Seek laughed. "It'd be a much better answer than simply just telling you 'yes', wouldn't it?"

Draco smiled softly and shook his head. "Hurry up. I'm hungry now, so I'm leaving. Just let me know when I should come back." He frowned down at the pocket his phone was in. "Actually, why don't you just text me your answer? I don't even need to come back, I can leave right now."

"Can you?" Seek raised one eyebrow. "And tell your owner what? That you're waiting for one of the Hallows to text you with the answer after exchanging phone numbers with him? I can't really see that going over too well, Draco."

The casual way he said Draco's name sent a shiver zipping through him, but he fought it off with a glare. "He's not my fucking owner!" he snapped. "I know that you lot are all savages who refer to the people you're with as your 'property', but that doesn't mean I'm something to be fucking owned!"

"All right," Seek relented, holding up in his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. You're your own person, Draco, I get it. But does that mean you'd be okay with telling him that you exchanged mobile numbers with a rival club member?"

Draco huffed in frustration. No, of course Draco would never tell Fen that he and Seek had exchanged numbers, and the man bloody _knew_ that.

"Okay then," Seek grinned. "Just stay close and come back when I text you. Plus," he added, stepping closer to the fence, "this way, I'll get to see you again before you take off."

That time, Draco was unable to fight off the shiver that shot through him. Lord, yes, he wanted that. He wanted to see Seek again, and he wanted Seek to want to see him again too.

"All right," Draco croaked, throat suddenly dry, "I'll be close then. Call your club already, for Christ's sake."

Seek grinned. "Yes, sir." And with that, he turned and strode back inside, his gait confident and oddly graceful. The man moved with a certain fluidity that Draco tended to associate with athletes. Did Seek play football in his spare time, perhaps? Draco could certainly imagine him kicking a football around and grinning.

He stared after Seek until long after the man had disappeared around the corner, sighing to himself before finally heading back to his car. He really was hungry, and he knew that he had a while to wait until the Hallows assembled and reached a decision. But Draco was in absolutely no hurry to return back to the Death Eaters or the ugly clubhouse he lived in and hated.

He was in absolutely no hurry at all.

oOo

"What's there to even think about?" Ron demanded, slamming one fist down on the table. "Our answer is an obvious yes!"

"Agreed," Seamus said casually, lounging back in his chair.

"See?" Ron said, gesturing to Seamus. "Irish is with me! Seek?"

Everybody turned to Harry, who shrugged. "I think we should give him his truck back." The entire room fell into silence as they stared at Harry, who waited several heartbeats before grinning. "One piece at a time."

Half the table roared with laughter as the other half nodded.

"Which would only incite a full-scale war," Kingsley sighed, eyes narrowed as he tapped the table in thought.

"Uh, Kings?" Charlie said, drawing the man's attention, "Have you read the bloody letter? They already want a full-scale war. It's pretty much already decided, even without our answer. This whole thing is just them pretending to be diplomatic about it. He just wants his fucking truck returned undamaged, but it's going to result in war either way."

Kingsley pinned everybody with a hard, serious stare, resting on Harry last. "Do we all remember what happened the last time we went to war with the Death Eaters?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling the gaze of every single one of his brothers without even needing to look up.

"And we still haven't paid them back for that," Moony growled, and Harry glanced at him in surprise. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at Moony's desire for revenge, considering the fact that Moony and Sirius were best friends, but Moony was normally so calm and controlled, definitely the calmest of the club, and always the last to approve any sort of violence. Harry always joked with Remus that he had ended up in the lifestyle least suited to his nature—that of a biker.

"It's Worm who will pay," Harry growled, fists automatically clenching as he imagined smashing them into Worm's face until the man had no teeth left in his head. He had killed Sirius, and he would fucking pay for it.

"Yes," Kings agreed, a shadow crossing his dark face, "he will. But he's not the only casualty we've had. They've also taken Cedric, Sturgis, Bode, Frank, even Alice." He paused to exhale heavily before glancing at Harry once more. "And James."

"And Lily," Moony whispered, face twisted in grief, and Harry felt his heart clench. Both of his parents had died at the hands of the Death Eaters' president, and Harry was damned if he was going to allow that piece of shit to continue drawing breath. Riddle would die, and Harry would be the last thing he ever saw.

"Then we have our answer," he said in a low voice, muscles tense. If the Death Eaters wanted a war, Harry would give them one.

Kingsley sighed again and nodded. "Then we put it to a vote. If there's anybody here with any doubt, any hesitation, any single reason you feel is a good one for not going to war with the Death Eaters, say so now." He waited, but nobody spoke. Silence hung over the table like a storm cloud, one that pulsed and sparked with static. "All right then."

One by one, they all went around the table and voted, and Harry could feel the tangible resolve filling the air with every "Aye" that passed a member's lips.

"Passed," Kingsley nodded, banging the gavel down on the table to signify the end of the meeting.

"Wait," Ron said, and everybody paused to stare at him. "There's something else we need to decide."

"What, you mean like which of the Death Eater's is gonna be the first to die?" Fred asked, one eyebrow raised, and Ron smirked.

"No, that I don't really care about as long as there are casualties. No," he paused, looking to Harry, "we need to decide what to do about the messenger."

Harry's blood went cold as everybody settled back in their chairs with grunts of agreement.

"We do nothing," he said calmly. "He has nothing to do with it."

Dean raised one eyebrow. "Didn't you say he belonged to one of the members?"

"Yes," Harry fumed, angry at himself for letting that detail slip. He should have known better than to mention that. "But that doesn't mean that he's actually involved in any of it! I mean, you wouldn't want Ginny dragged into our shit, would you?"

"No," Dean agreed, "but I would never be stupid or cruel enough to send her to their clubhouse just to deliver a message."

"A challenge," Seamus corrected. "It wasn't a message. They called us the fuck out."

"No," Harry growled. "We don't hurt innocent people to prove a point."

George snorted. "Who says he's innocent though? You don't even know him, mate. What if he belongs to Riddle?"

The thought made Harry's head spin, feeling suddenly sick with worry at the thought of someone as pretty and sad as Draco belonging to that monster. No, it wasn't Riddle. Riddle would never send his own property into such a dangerous situation, would he? And besides, Riddle wasn't even gay.

Harry shook his head, watching the room swirl around him. "No. It doesn't matter who he belongs to." And maybe if Harry kept telling himself that, he might actually start to believe it. A sudden thought struck him, and he smiled. "I think I might have a better way to send a message."

oOo

Draco sighed, leaning against the gate and tapping his fingernails idly against the metal, feeling oddly relaxed by the faint _ting_ he heard with every tap. The wind around him was picking up, whispering through the long grass and kicking up dust near the side of the road. Above him, the sky was churning with dark clouds, and Draco hoped the rain would wait until he was at least back in his car. In the distance, a metal gate clanged shut, creaking open before slamming back against the bars with a sound loud enough to make Draco jump. The nearby trees were beginning to bend beneath the increasing force of the wind.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning when he felt the cool metal of the ring he had hidden in there earlier. It was warm from having been in his pocket for so long, but it somehow seemed to freeze Draco's fingers like ice. He closed his hand around the piece of jewelry and pulled it from his pocket, staring down at it expressionlessly. It sat in his palm, small and unthreatening, nondescript and seemingly undangerous, but it seemed to burn his skin like fire, as though someone had placed the lit tip of a cigarette to his flesh and was slowly watching it eat through his hand. He could even imagine the _hiss_ it would make as it seared through flesh, chewing straight through the skin with fangs made of fire until it burned right through to the other side.

The ring, this symbolized collar, felt as though it was slowly choking Draco more and more with every passing day. How soon until he was no longer able to breathe? Until he could no longer choke down the gasping half-breaths he had been struggling for so long to survive on?

Any day now, Draco would fall apart, crumble to dust with no warning, and on that day, Fenrir would finally win.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Draco's morbid thoughts and he glanced up, automatically slipping his ring back into his pocket at the sight of Seek approaching. The man wore a grim expression on his face, but a small smile tilted up the corners of his mouth the moment his eyes landed on Draco. God, the man was so unfairly good-looking. He was fit and he was kind and he was everything that Draco was not allowed to touch.

But Christ, did he want to.

Draco's eyes fell to the square box that Seek carried in his hands, covered in what appeared to be an entire roll of gaffer tape, and he tilted his head, wondering what was inside.

"Draco," Seek smiled, tucking the box between his chest and forearms as he unlocked the gate. But this time, it was him who slipped outside, setting the box on the ground at his feet before looking to Draco with an odd, almost shy expression. The sight of it made Draco's breath catch in his throat.

"Seek," he murmured. His stomach swooped when Seek shifted closer, resting one shoulder against the fence and leaning his weight on it. "What's in the box?"

Seek smirked. "Our answer. A little present for Wolf."

Draco glanced back to the box as a wave of fear hit him. Oh god, what was in there? "What is it?" he whispered, wondering if he would be punished for whatever was inside. Would Fenrir take his frustration out on Draco in place of a real target?

Seek's smirk widened. "It's a surprise."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "And you want me to deliver it to him? Is there not a single man in either club who cares for my fucking safety?"

The smirk instantly slid from Seek's face. "Whoa, hey, I'm not trying to get you in any trouble. But you wanted an answer, and this is it. Besides," he continued, stepping closer to Draco and trailing one hand down his arm. Draco shivered. "Wolf won't touch you if you belong to one of his brothers, no matter how angry he is. Right?"

"Right," Draco echoed, unwilling to tell Seek that Wolf was the one who owned him, and could therefore do to him what he liked. By belonging to Wolf, Draco was guaranteed protection from the others, yet on the other hand, by belonging to Wolf, Draco was guaranteed no protection from Fenrir himself.

"You gonna tell me who it is then?" Seek pressed, continuing to brush light fingers over the bare skin of Draco's arm.

"Nobody." No, Draco did not want Seek to know that it was Fenrir to whom he belonged. He did not want Seek to look at him with disgust; he did not want Seek to think less of him for allowing a man such as Fenrir Greyback to touch him.

Seek sighed. "Figured. Doesn't mean I'll give up asking though."

A harsh laugh burst from Draco's throat. "Yes, because we're so very close, aren't we? You realize that the chances of us seeing one another again after today are practically nonexistent, don't you?"

Seek shrugged, one half of his mouth pulled up in a grin, although his eyes remained sharp and serious. "Hey, a guy can hope."

Draco felt a small smile tug at his own mouth. "You are the biggest fool I've ever met."

The grin on Seek's face widened as he hummed. "And yet, you don't mind this fool touching you, do you?"

The words made Draco glare as he considered yanking his arm back to prove a point, but Seek was right—Draco not only didn't mind Seek touching him, but god help him, he actively enjoyed it.

"You don't have to go, you know," Seek whispered, reaching up to cup Draco's jaw and trace his chin with one thumb. "You can just stay here. I can get this box to Wolf without involving you."

Draco swayed closer, feeling hypnotized by the smooth words, the gentle touch, the warmth of the man's body. "And then what?" he murmured, pressing his back against the fence as Seek boxed him in with his arms and shifted closer and closer.

"And then you stay here. With me."

"You don't even know me," Draco breathed, head swimming from the proximity. Oh god, what was Seek doing to him? How was he making Draco's insides tremble like this?

"But I want to," Seek responded, leaning down to press a light kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. "So stay. With me. Don't go back there."

The dizziness was only getting worse. Draco hummed, unable to help but turn his head in Seek's direction, feeling his lips quiver as Seek covered them with his own. The kiss was warm, solid, and giving, in a way that Draco had never been given before. He was so used to greedy, demanding kisses, the kind that only knew how to take—taking and taking until there was nothing left to give, and still, they demanded more.

But Seek's kisses weren't like that. There was a soft, gentle confidence behind his every touch that Draco couldn't resist. He didn't want to resist. Just once in his life, even if it was only in that one moment, Draco wanted something perfect. He just wanted to feel whole once more, even if he knew he never would be. He had lost far too many pieces of himself over the years to ever again be able to count himself as whole—but Seek somehow made him feel able to almost trick himself into believing it could be possible.

Seek somehow made the shackles feel looser, the chains holding Draco to the earth somehow feel lighter. He made Draco feel so much less burdened.

"Just stay here, Draco," Seek murmured, continuing to press kisses to Draco's mouth as his hands stroked Draco's arms and shoulders, sliding down his chest before settling on his ribs. Draco hummed, deepening the kiss and reveling in it for entire wonderful seconds before suddenly jerking back, panting hard.

"I can't," he whispered, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Oh god, what was he doing? Fenrir would kill them both if he ever found out!

"Hmm, you can though," Seek whispered back, refusing to back away.

Draco glared, struggling to clear the dizzying waves from his head. "Yes, just until you get what you want and get bored of me, right?"

Seek jerked back as though struck, and Draco wasn't sure if it was the words or the tone that made him step away.

"No," he said shortly, eyeing Draco in a way that made him feel far too exposed.

"I need to go," Draco said in a similar tone, shoving at the man's chest. Seek took another step back and Draco scrambled away from the fence, grateful to no longer have a wall at his back.

"Wait!" Seek called after him, and Draco paused before turning his head to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. "Don't forget this," Seek said, bending down to pick up the box and hand it over to Draco, who clenched it tightly in his arms, holding it up as a shield between him and Seek, who might just be the most dangerous man Draco had ever met. "The contents are harmless, I promise."

Nodding, he spun around without another word and strode back to the car, furious at both himself and Seek for ever allowing Draco to dare dream that things might one day be better when he knew for a fact that they never would be. This was all Draco was ever going to get out of life. It was well past time that he learned to accept it.

**TBC**


End file.
